


White Stretches Upon a Flat Country

by bunnyofnegativeeuphoria



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt Jim, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mission Gone Wrong, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Protective Spock, first time writing spirk, for commandtrek, some comedy???, star fleet academy merchendise, startreksecretsanta2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyofnegativeeuphoria/pseuds/bunnyofnegativeeuphoria
Summary: "Had he been moderately less cold and marginally less Vulcan he might have called it beautiful."After a disastrous mission on Algol Three, Jim and Spock find themselves spending the rest of shore leave on Earth. Jim takes Spock to the, lately uninhabited, house in Iowa. It's cold, old, and a space for feelings to grow and settle.“It was not duty that stopped my heart. It was not duty that bled over my uniform. It was not duty that made me sit by your bedside for a month."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commandtrek](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=commandtrek), [BookwormGirl16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookwormGirl16/gifts).



> Disclaimer + Author’s note: set sometime between Into Darkness and Beyond (therefore does not address any happenings in Beyond). Also, Spock’s mum is not dead, and Vulcan is not destroyed – not that it really has a significant impact on this fic – I’m just still in denial and it’s Christmastime and I don’t need that shit and neither do you. Franchise is obvs not mine – if it was, it would be infinitely more explicitly gay. Enjoy the Spirk. LLAP. 
> 
> Star Trek Secret Santa 2016 gift for the patient commandtrek <3 Happy New Year <3
> 
> First time writing Spirk, and first time writing prose in like a year XD

Had he been moderately less cold and marginally less Vulcan he might have called it beautiful. 

For all his time on Earth the sight before him seemed entirely alien. Where there should have been crops of wheat sprouting in neat furrows there was only white - vast stretches of white upon a flat country. The solitary farmhouse stood solidly against the piercing winter. In spite of himself, Spock was at a loss as to how anything could possibly grow in such an environment. Basic knowledge of seasonal agricultural practices stated that the fields of gold were merely temporarily hidden by the layers of snow, and would re-emerge at varying intervals around the Terran months of March and April. 

Snow.

“Fascinating.”

“What is?” Jim’s voice came from behind him, drowned slightly by the sound of two blunt objects colliding with semi-regularity. 

Spock turned away from the scenic view of the Iowan porch and observed Jim. He was currently hitting one of his boots with the other, causing snow to drop from underneath the soles and onto the wooden deck. Attempting to keep the snow from falling inside the hallway, Jim stood delicately on his toes with his arms stretched out in front of him to avoid small puddles of melted snow where some had already dropped carelessly from his boots to the floor. Satisfied, he stepped back to place the boots neatly under a coat rack. Spock felt a warmth, now familiar, kindle from an unspecified location inside of him. _Illogical_. 

“The juxtaposition between what that which my eyes see and that which my mind tells me must be hidden beneath the surface.” As he spoke, Spock watched as Jim removed his hat – he believed it was referred to as a ‘beanie’. He stood sideways-on to Spock, exposing the left side of his head. Jim ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out and covering up a circular bald spot, precisely three centimetres in diameter. Spock felt his index and middle fingers threaten to twitch involuntarily. He tightened his grip on his Starfleet issue duffle bag. Jim’s was slung over his other shoulder. “As you know, Vulcan does not experience such extreme seasonal changes. I simply find it illogically difficult to imagine that _triticum_ may survive in these temperatures.” 

“Trust me, it’s there. Miles and miles of it…” Jim shuffled further down the hall. “You coming? It’s cold.” He began removing a scarf and his leather jacket – inadequate for the weather, but the only one he appeared to possess. He had refused Spock’s offered extra duffle coat with coloured cheeks. Spock did not understand his refusal, and hoped to coax his singular captain into the coat at some point during their stay. Letting Jim be cold was unacceptable. 

“Earth to Spock?”

Spock blinked. Perhaps this recently commenced mind-wandering of his was the source of Nyota’s…fond exasperation with him in recent dialogue. It was certainly uncharacteristic. 

“I shall be with you presently.” Spock stepped inside.

“Cool. I’ll go and see if the old heater still works. No guarantees.” Jim’s voice carried easily through the hallway and beyond. 

“Though I am confident your mechanical abilities are up to the task I advise you to take care.”

Busying himself with mirroring Jim’s routine for removing outer garments, Spock found himself breathing more deeply. His olfactory glands picked up wood, paint, and faint traces of mould. The air was slightly stale. Overlaying this, however, was a smell that he had come to associate with Jim: the combination of clean skin washed with unscented hypo-allergenic shampoo; the earthy cologne that he sprayed onto his shirts to avoid direct skin contact; and an essence that was unique to Jim’s biology. 

In socked feet, a novel feeling, Spock followed Jim’s path past a staircase and into an open-plan kitchen and living room area. There was a light layer of dust on most surfaces, but overall the space gave the impression of having once been comfortably lived in. A small fire was blazing in one corner. Spock gravitated towards it. He found Jim by an open wall panel, lying on his stomach and half-way inside of said wall. The view was pleasing. Spock assumed he was tinkering with, what he hoped was, the central heating system. 

“Do you require assistance?”

Jim turned slightly and threw him a quick grin. “Nope. You can get the replicator going, if you want?” Spock examined the subtle tightness in Jim’s facial features. It came hand-in-hand with the recent weight-loss. Though small and, in the grand scheme of things, insignificant, it was an unpleasant reminder of why the _Enterprise_ crew were granted leave in the first place. Jim’s full recovery was paramount. Doctor McCoy’s threats had been entirely unnecessary – Spock would guard and nurture his captain with utmost care. That Jim was nearly back to full functionality was inconsequential. As long as his health continued to be below the optimal, Spock would attend him. 

“Very well.” Spock turned into the kitchen and began tinkering with the outdated replicator. It started up easily, and its display glowed within seconds. He presses some buttons and sets the date and time to Stardate 2260.357, time 15:00. 

“The replicator is functioning. Do you have additional tasks for me?” Spock eyed Jim’s prolonged position on the cold floor. “May I swap places with you?” 

“Nah, that’s okay.”

“I insist. The heating is not performing optimally at this time, and as your body is still recovering from our mission on Algol Three-” 

“Spock, I’m fine.”

“Fine is insufficient. Doctor McCoy stressed the importance of relaxation and care in your restoration.”

“Bones likes to exaggerate. I’m nearly done.” 

Jim’s hair had parted slightly, again revealing the slight bald spot. Spock swallowed a sharp retort as he buried the image of Jim, unresponsive on the ground. He personally believed that the good doctor’s reaction upon Jim’s arrival in Sickbay was by no means exaggerated. 

“If you do not complete your task within the next minute and thirty seconds I shall forcibly remove you from the floor.” 

“And done! See? You can relax a bit. I’m not going to keel over.” Jim got up and closed the wall panel. His agile movements reassured Spock somewhat. He grinned victoriously at Spock, and Spock observed how the captain’s nose was in perfect alignment with Spock’s mouth. 

“It would indeed please me if you did not.” He said. Jim’s grin faded and he looked away. It was clear that Spock’s speech had been registered, but he could not discern why Jim would have cause to avoid eye contact. 

“I’m sorry, Spock. I’m not an invalid, though. I can fix a heater without collapsing.” 

When it was clear that Jim would not speak further, Spock said, “I do not doubt your capabilities. I apologise if the doctor and myself may seem overbearing to you, Jim. You must, however, understand that your health does not warrant such flippancy to those of us who care for you.” 

Jim’s eyes snapped up and met Spock’s own. He gazed at Spock with surprising intensity. Before Spock could question him, however, Jim turned his head to the side and hunched his shoulders slightly. Spock wished he had the right to reach out and smooth away the creases on Jim’s forehead. 

Something appeared to hang in mid-air, out of Spock’s reach. Jim shuffled. 

“Wanna head upstairs with me and settle in?” 

Spock considered the contour of Jim’s cheek. “Affirmative.”  
***  
Upstairs, Jim lead Spock past a door clearly labelled with “KEEP OUT” on a chalkboard and into the room opposite it. The room was modest in size and blue in colour. There appeared to be few personal items in it. Three rounded stones of unspecified origins lay on the windowsill. 

“This used to be Sam’s room until he left. Mum cleared it out somewhat. It was really cluttered. Sam loved collecting rocks, but most of them are thrown out. It’s a guest bedroom now, but no one really uses it…I’m sorry I’m rambling.” 

Spock put his bag down on top of the single bed. “Do not apologise. The sound of your voice is pleasing.” His statement was met with silence, so he turns around. Jim stood in the doorway, arms crossed protectively over his chest.

“Jim?”

“I don’t know what to say when you do that.”

“…I’m afraid I do not understand your meaning?” 

“You don’t?”

Spock was puzzled. “Negative.” 

Jim sighed softly. “Don’t worry about it, then.” He approached Spock and held his hand out for his duffle bag. “Thanks. I’ll just unpack and meet you downstairs – get started with dinner.” 

And with that he was gone.  
***  
Having unpacked efficiently, Spock returned to the kitchen before Jim. He observed that the light outside had darkened to almost black. The house seemed warmer already. Automatic ceiling lighting brought attention to the dusty surfaces. Spock inspected various cupboards and found a flannel. He wetted it slightly, then wiped off the worst of the dust. Next, he regarded the replicator again. After some investigation Spock frowned. 

“You okay, Spock?” Spock turned around. Jim’s eyes were unassuming and gentle. The awkward moment seemed to have passed. 

“Your replicator is antiquated.”

“I thought you got it running?”

“Affirmative. However, it seems it will only produce raw food items, not culinary dishes.” 

At this, Jim grinned and let out a little laugh. He did not know what had caused this, but it pleased Spock nonetheless. 

“That’s alright. It’s always been like that. We’ll just have to cook, won’t we?” With that, Jim brushed past Spock and headed towards a cupboard with confidence. He pulled out various kitchen appliances. “I hope you like Mexican.”  
***

Spock did enjoy it. Though spicy compared to the relatively bland Vulcan cuisine, the food was pleasantly exotic, and prepared by Jim. Spock had been of little help, and so had been delegated to chopping vegetables. Watching Jim cook had been fascinating, as it revealed yet another aspect of his nature hereto hidden from Spock. He was torn between chiding Jim for being on his feet for too long and being impressed by his handling of vegetarian food. He looked at Jim – Jim who was relaxed, enjoying the meal.

“Your culinary abilities are superb, Jim.”

Jim looked up at him from across the table. “It’s just a chili.”

“Nevertheless. It is logical to praise where praise is merited.”

“Thanks, Spock. Appreciate it.”

This sparked a satisfying conversation about food, over-generalisation of various cuisines, and Jim’s later childhood. He had learned to cook from his mother, who had believed it was important despite the existence of replicators. Spock’s own mother had been similarly inclined, but his father had found it to be illogical. The end result was, of course, that Spock _had_ learned a few simple Vulcan dishes in his lifetime. After his first cooking session with his mother, Spock had asked his father what had changed his mind. His father had said that the secret to marital bliss was compromise. 

“I thought Vulcan’s didn’t like chatting during mealtimes?” Jim’s fork scraped along the bottom of the bowl. He seemed determined to finish off every last particle of food. 

“It is not common, correct.” Spock found himself ingesting more food than was nutritionally necessary. _Curious_. “We are not among Vulcans, however, and the company is stimulating.” Jim blushed. 

“I’m just me.” Jim cleared his throat. “So, do you have any work to do while we’re here?”

Later, after washing the dishes, Spock joined Jim by the fireplace. The central heating was working, but it had not heated the house to a standard that Spock found acceptable. He would not complain. Jim had refused the offered bed at Spock’s own San Francisco apartment, for reasons known only to himself. Spock would respect that decision. That is, until he would be able to determine the cause and amend it. 

Jim was setting up a chess set. “Join me?”

“There is a fifty percent chance that you will lose. I have had ample time to consider your strategy and revise my own.”

Jim grinned. “Try me.” 

Spock looked at Jim. He took in his relaxed position in the chair by the fire, bundled as he was in two blankets at Spock’s insistence. The flames cast a warm glow over his still-too-pale skin, and his blue eyes danced as he regarded the chessboard, undoubtedly thinking of a tactic that would lead Spock’s imminent defeat. 

Illogical as it may be, it seemed that life was determined to prove to Spock how utterly hopeless it was to prevent his affection for Jim Kirk from increasing exponentially and beyond the bounds of all reason.  
***  
It was supposed to have been a peaceful First Contact mission. The _Enterprise_ had orbited trustingly around Algol Three when it had happened. 

Spock should have known. Jim was too trusting, riding high on their latest success with the neighbouring inhabitants on Algol Two. The mission should have been a “cakewalk”, to borrow a phrase from the captain. 

“They contacted _us_ , for God’s sake. There’s nothing to worry about.” Jim had said. His eyes had been bright, ready for new exploration. “I can’t wait. Algol Two was so hot and humid. Algol Three is supposed to be greenery from North to South.” 

“Transporter room to Bridge.” The pleasant brogue that was Mr Scott’s voice filtered through the Bridge’s intercom. 

“Kirk here. What is it, Scotty?” 

“Forgive me, Captain, but there seems to be some surface interference. Purely natural – appears to have something to do with the wee trees. They’re giving off small amounts ‘o radiation. Nothing tae worry about, I don’t think, but the landing party should be equipped with homing beacons just in case.”

“Captain, I must advise you to-”

“Okay one little hiccup. So what? We’ve experienced worse. I have full confidence in Scotty’s tech. I’m telling you it’ll all be fine.” Jim pressed the comm button again. “Thank you, Mr Scott. We’ll see you in the Transporter Room in ten. Kirk out.” 

“He’s right, Spock. I translated the message myself. They appear to be genuine. All they want is to discuss the Federation and a possibility to trade dilithium.” Nyota had been correct, of course. There was nothing to suspect. No reason to suspect. Spock’s fears were illogical. But he took one look at Jim’s eyes, bearers of the burden of seven hundred souls, and knew it was his duty to safeguard. 

“Very well. But I shall accompany you.” Spock looked sternly at Jim, daring him to argue.

“Of course. What do you take me for? First Contact precautions will apply. I’ll take you, security detail, and I’ll have Bones standing by in Sickbay.” Jim turned to Nyota. “Wanna come? We could use your expertise. I know Johnson’s on the list, but you have seniority.” 

“Delighted to, Captain.” Nyota had smiled at Jim then, for the first time since the termination of her and Spock’s relationship. Jim looked especially pleased at this, and so Spock’s concerns were wrestled into silence. 

But Spock should have known. 

The Algolian Government were as peaceful as anticipated. They had greeted the landing party with enthusiastic bodily gesticulations and rapidly fluctuating skin colour. With Nyota’s help, the landing party had gradually been able to interpret the changing skin tones as being indicative of mood. It seemed a fascinating evolutionary trait that set the Algolians on Three apart from the people of Two. Whilst the finer details of the extent to which Algolian emotions compared to other Federation species had yet to be established, when their skin began to unanimously glowed bright red the hairs on Spock’s arms had stood to attention. A cold shiver ran through him. 

“Spock.” The concerned eyes of his captain were no help in this instance. Nor was the caring hand placed oh so gently on his upper biceps. “Spock you’re-”

That was when the militant group had attacked. 

The landing party was immediately outnumbered. The members of the Algolian Government fled with the Governor by orders of the captain. Jim had originally attempted to act to salvage the situation, but it quickly proved futile. By the time gas canisters were thrown into the Algolian Hall of Unity, they had lost two members of security, injured a third, and Jim had been shot in the arm. A flesh wound, but it had been enough to make him drop his phaser. 

“Captain,” Spock shouted, “We must retreat to the back of the hall if we are to avoid the gas.” 

“ _Enterprise_ , come in _Enterprise_. This is Captain Kirk, requesting emergency beam-out. Now!” Jim’s order was broken by a coughing fit, and he had to drop to the ground to avoid fire. The militants appeared to target him more than anyone. The realisation that Jim stood out in his Command Yellows among the group of red and blue made Spock’s blood run cold. He attempted to run towards Jim, but was hindered by flying debris. Hand grenades. 

“Aye, Captain. Do you have yer beacons?” 

“I don’t – dammit – I don’t know. I’ll check. Stand by.” Jim stood up from his crouched position. Spock wanted to tear him back down. 

“Captain!”

Jim turned towards Science Officer Ka-lek. She pointed towards the doors. A scream sounded.

“Uhura!” 

Nyota had been captured. Jim took off, Spock directly behind him. Together they dodged enemy fire as they watched Nyota be wrestled to the ground and dragged away. They intercepted the militants. Spock was held up by two in hand-to-hand combat. Jim went after Nyota. 

“Spock!” 

Spock nerve-pinched the last militant and looked up. Nyota was on the ground, but she did not look relieved. Instead, her eyes were on the doorway. The rest of them militants were nowhere to be seen. 

Neither was Jim. 

Spock sprinted towards the doorway. Nothing. Outside was clear, the skies were the expected pink. 

A soft beep. Spock looked down.

Jim’s homing beacon. 

Spock opened his communicator. “Spock to Kirk. Come in Captain.” He was met with static. Spock tightened his grip on the communicator until he heard the material creak in his hand. “Spock to Kirk. Can you hear me, Captain? Spock to Kirk…Jim. Jim?” _Was that his voice? So feeling. Afraid_. 

“Spock?”

“Not now, Lieutenant. We must gather with the rest of the landing party.” Spock picked up the beacon and took off into the Hall once again. He found Ka-Lek. 

“Scan the area.”

Ka-Lek consulted her tricorder. “I’m sorry, Commander. I can’t differentiate the Captain from other sentient beings in the area.” 

Spock turned away. Illogically, he wished to run blindly out of the Hall and into the city. It would be useless to search for Jim in such a manner, but his side twisted in a desperation he had not felt since his palm and met Jim’s, parted by radiation-proof glass. He recalled how, mere minutes ago, Jim had gripped his upper arm – warmth seeping through the cotton-elastane blend. 

“Lieutenant, scan the surface for _gossypium_.” Ka-Lek grabbed her tricorder.

“Spock?”

Spock turned to Nyota. “Cotton.”

“Cotton?”

“Our uniforms are of a unique cotton blend. Tracing it should be easy as _gossypium_ is unable to grown on Algol Three.” 

“Sir!” Spock whirled around.

“Yes?”

“I found him. A…stronghold, I think, three klicks to the North-West.” 

Spock took off at a sprint. The others would follow. If they could not keep up, it made no difference. Spock would tear the militants apart with his own hands. It would be easy. 

Using his own tricorder, he homed in on the stronghold in record time. He primed his phaser. There was a coded lock to the entrance of the building. Spock considered it briefly, then shot it. A faint click sounded. _A fledgling group_. Confident that his presence would soon be detected, Spock moved efficiently. He opened the door silently, then, seeing only an empty corridor, he made his way in. 

The tricorder was of minimal use. Jim’s presence was marked by a hot flashing red circle, glowing faintly with hope in the dark hallways. The hallways themselves, however, were not marked. Spock could only pick his way through mathematical probability and have faith in Jim. Jim, who had no phaser or back-up – merely a forceful denial of no-win scenarios. 

Spock’s comm beeped. “Spock here,” he whispered. 

“Spock?” Spock blinked and swallowed. Jim’s voice was faint. He was in pain. 

“Where are you?” 

“Don-dunno. They dragged me into some room. They want to make an example of me in front of the Governor.”

“I am coming for you.”

“Don’t doubt it.” _Was it possible for a smile to be heard_? 

He was closing in on the red dot. He heard Jim hiss. “Are you injured?”

“I-I think my leg’s broken. My arm hurts, but it’s functional. Don’t worry.”

“Your request is denied. Cease moving.” A faint laugh. A gasp. “What is the matter?”

“Footsteps. I hear footsteps.” 

Spock consulted the tricorder. The dot was still approximately twenty metres away. Spock threw caution to the wind and ran.

“Captain.”

“It’s not you, is it.” 

“Jim.” Spock turned the corner at full speed. The echo of his feet on the ground signalled to all the world’s enemies that retribution was inevitable. The passageway was flooded with light from an open door at the end of the corridor. Spock switched his phaser from stun. 

“Spock.”

“Jim?”

“They’ve found me.” 

A breath.

A shot.

A shot rang out in the hallway. Spock leapt into the room in time to see Jim fall to one side, slump to the floor. 

The assailants could not turn around to register the threat before their lives were ended. Their bodies met the ground hard. 

There was blood. _So much blood_. Spock fell to his knees beside Jim. He was afraid to touch. He was desperate to touch. He buried his hands in Jim’s hair – stained his hands with red. Spock pulled at Jim, cradled the precious body with his own. 

The homing beacon in his pocket chirped. The familiar sensation of the transporter did nothing to distract from the vast emptiness that threatened to tear down every corner of Spock’s mind. 

***  
Spock was too distracted to sleep. Perhaps it was the new location, perhaps it was the crushing defeat he suffered at chess. Spock did not wish to speculate. 

Perhaps it was the thought that Jim’s room was across the hall, but Spock had no way of knowing if he still breathed – no way other than sound reasoning. Reason said that Jim had been alive and well at 23:00 hours when they had said goodnight. Reason said that Jim had almost recovered fully and that healthy humans did not make a habit of dying for arbitrary reasons. Spock did not trust logic. 

He sat up in bed, placing his feet on the floor. The wooden floorboards stung with cold upon his bare skin. Normally, he would have put socks on. Spock tugged the sleeves of his thermal sleep shirt to correct what lying down had skewed. He padded noiselessly towards his door and opened it. There, opposite him, was Jim’s door – idiosyncratically represented with phosphorescent stars and the chalked “KEEP OUT” sign. 

Spock knocked on the door. 

“Spock?”

Spock was at a loss for what to say. From the sound of Jim’s voice, he concluded that he must have woken him. 

“Come in – the door’s not locked.” Spock placed a hand behind his back, and opened the door with the other. Jim’s room was marginally warmer than his own. He saw Jim in bed as he rubbed at his eyes. The sheets had slipped down, and Spock could make out a loose white shirt. The captain usually slept shirtless whilst on the _Enterprise_. Spock found himself surprisingly disappointed. Jim shivered. “Hold on.” He reached over the side of his bed, and pulled out a hooded jumper. Whilst he wrestled with it, Spock looked around the room. 

Despite the darkness, Jim’s room was everything and nothing like Spock had imagined. It held the same uninhabited scent that had, until recently, pervaded the rest of the house. His superior night vision allowed him to observe that the walls were white, save for the wall directly behind Jim’s bed. That wall had been painted lovingly in dark shades of blue, purple, and green. Several more phosphorescent stars had been stuck to this wall clumsily, some in familiar patterns. Spock made out _Ursa Major, Leo_ , and _Orion_. The rest of the room showed signs of having once been occupied by a curious child: hand-drawn diagrams of star systems, mathematical theorems, and Shakespearean plot structure littered the walls; a rock collection similar to the one in Spock’s room was on display in two windowsills; a chemistry set, permanently discoloured through use, was seated on an adolescent-sized desk. Next to it was a shelf with trophies. Across every other available surface, including the floor, there were books. 

“What did you want?” 

Now that Jim was seated, Spock’s vision honed in on the constellation above Jim’s head. Connected directly with _Orion_ was _Eridanus_. Though it would be impossible to expect an entirely accurate representation of the modern constellations, the distinct triple star system in the middle of _Eridanus_ could only have been 40 Eridani. 

Jim’s jumper looked slightly too large for him. Spock frowned. 

“I apologise for disturbing your sleep.”

“That’s alright.” Jim yawned. “I’m good at falling back asleep.” Jim stared at Spock expectantly. 

“…I was merely interested in inquiring about your health. Are you sleeping well?” Spock folded both hands behind his back. 

Jim cocked his head. “Well I was.” He smiled wryly. Spock felt heat rise to his cheeks, but believed the darkness would camouflage the inconvenient biological reaction. “And I feel fine. I feel sleepy.” At this, he yawned yet again, and ruffled his hair sleepily. 

“You have an interesting wall.” Random statements had never before been one of his traits. 

“What?” Jim looked around his room blearily. They were, of course, still white. “Oh, right.” Jim glanced at the wall behind him. “Just a little something I did when I was ten. Mom threw a fit when she saw I’d painted the wall and dripped it onto the floor too. I think she’d given up around the time I stuck the stars on.” He smiled fondly. “But I don’t think you woke me up to discuss my wall…which you’ve never seen before.” 

When Spock did not reply, it was Jim’s turn to blush. To Spock, Jim’s cheeks practically glowed in the dark, and he gave up any hope that Jim himself had not noticed Spock’s own darkened hue. 

“It is unreasonable of me. My mind…would not settle.”

“You can’t sleep?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Oh. Is it too cold for you? Do you want an extra blanket? I’m sorry – I forgot – the heating doesn’t really work in Sam’s room. I should have given you mine. You’re used to Vulcan temps…Shit – shall we swap now? I don’t mind.” Jim started to shuffle out of bed. He did not appear bothered by the cold under his feet. 

“Please do not exert yourself, Jim. I do not wish to inconvenience you, and you will not give up your room. You are the recovering patient. I shall retire to my room. Forgive me for waking you.” Spock turned around.

“Spock! I’m not a fucking p – is that the only reason you came to wake me? I’m nearly back to normal, how many times do I have to tell you? Or Bones, for that matter?” Despite his expletive, Jim did not appear overly angry. Instead he looked… _hurt_? Spock’s browns furred. 

“I must ap-” 

“No – stop apologising. I’m being and ass. Again.” 

They considered each other. Spock knew Jim’s body gave warm hugs, and that his embrace, though brief, was always welcoming.

“I do not wish for you to be deprived of your own bed.”

“Well, I don’t want you freezing in your room and unable to sleep.” Jim paused. “You…you could sleep in here? With me, I mean.”

His mind leapt at the idea, but Spock then eyed Jim’s single bed with scepticism. Jim followed his gaze. 

“Right.”

Jim got out of bed, switched on the lamp on his nightstand, and began pushing the bed to the side. The wooden legs scraped loudly on the floor. 

“Jim?”

“Hold on.” Once the bed was up against the patterned wall, Jim cleared a space on the floor. He pushed his books to the side, stacking some to a precarious height. Jim then disappeared from the room altogether. Spock waited. 

Jim reappeared, carrying Spock’s mattress. Having an idea as to Jim’s plan, Spock helped Jim settle the mattress onto the floor, parallel to Jim’s bed. Jim then disappeared again, presumably to get Spock’s bedsheets. Once the rest was settled, Jim said,

“I put you on the floor. I’d offer you my bed, but-” Spock began to protest, “-but I know you won’t let me. Are you okay like this?” Spock nodded. “Alright then.” 

Jim climbed back into bed, as did Spock. It was strange to view a bed from this height, but Spock was strangely reminded of when his mother had taken him on a so-called camping trip. There was, however, a distinct lack of marshmelons. 

“See? Just like a sleepover.” Jim turned off the light. Spock heard him shuffle around until he found a comfortable position. Soon, all that could be heard was their combined breathing. It was reassuring. Spock applauded himself on achieving his goal without having had to reveal to Jim the precise reason behind his insomnia. 

Spock saw that Jim had not removed his jumper. He was determined to make sure Jim consumed adequate nutrition. 

Jim shuffled again. Spock could feel eyes on him. He met them with his own, but was confident that Jim could not see his. Jim’s face was open, almost longing. He had pulled his covers up to cover his nose. It was, maybe, a good way of warding off any residual chill. Spock copied Jim. 

“Jim, what is a sleepover?”  
***  
For the first time since he was a child, Spock woke from the sensation of light flooding the bedroom. Given that it was December, he deduced that he must have slept much later than usual for it to be daylight. He glanced at the holographic wall clock. It read 10:03. By this time Spock would usually have been awake for four hours already, and would have completed much-needed work aboard the _Enterprise_. Today was, however, the twenty-third day of shore leave that the crew had been granted by Starfleet. He had no pressing tasks to attend to, and he also felt a curiously strong disinclination to begin any of his projects. The duvet was warm, and Jim snuffled softly in his sleep not half a metre away from him. 

Still, Spock sat up. The mattress had been more than adequate for his needs. In the morning, the room smelled of sleep, Spock, and Jim. He looked at Jim. His body was turned towards Spock. Jim’s nose was still buried in the covers. A toe peaked out from somewhere near his pelvis, suggesting that Jim had curled in on himself, tucking his knees towards his chest. The stars on Jim’s wall did not glow in the natural lighting, but Spock could now tell that the star that marked 40 Eridani A was not worn around the edges like the rest. Spock concluded that it had been placed recently. He required meditation.

Careful to not wake the captain, Spock moved the duvet covers to one side. He then settled into the _loshiraq_ position on the mattress, folding his hands loosely into his lap. He took a deep breath. _Ri’agra_. 

When he opened his eyes again, Jim was gone. His internal body clock told him that fourty minutes had passed. He rose and made his bed, as well Jim’s. Jim’s scent was stronger at his bed, a combination of old and new. Spock fought the desire to linger. Instead, he headed for the bathroom. 

Spock showered, shaved, and fulfilled other hygienic necessities in his usual efficient manner. Fully dressed in casual day robes (and socks) he made his way downstairs. The staircase was full of framed photographs. Spock recognised Commander Winona Kirk, in uniform, aboard the _USS Endeavour_ ; someone who bore such a strong resemblance to Jim that Spock concluded that it must be George Samuel Kirk; and finally, at the bottom of the staircase, there was a picture of Jim – smilingly revealing two missing front teeth as he sits by an electric piano. The picture had clearly fallen off the wall at some point, and no one had replaced the frame or the slightly broken glass. 

“Spock? You’re awake. Finally.” Spock recognised the teasing tone in Jim’s voice. “Didn’t take you for a slacker.” He entered the kitchen. Jim stood by the oven, dressed casually in jeans and another hooded jumper. Closer inspection revealed it to be Starfleet Academy merchandise, reading “DAMMIT JIM, CLASS OF ‘58”. 

“Yes, Jim. I admit to being a disappointment of phenomenal dimensions.” He cocked an eyebrow, just for the pleasure of eliciting a predictable laugh from Jim. 

“Sit. I made breakfast.” 

“You should have interrupted my meditation. You should not have to be solely responsible for our meals. Allow me to help next time.”

“Sure. Sit.” Spock sat by the kitchen table. Jim had made pancakes, and a stack was placed in front of Spock, nearly reaching his chin. “Eat up. There’s butter and fruit too. I don’t suppose you want cream, but I can make it if you do.” 

Spock eyed the intimidating tower of food. He had never had pancakes before, but he recognised them from when Jim had had them in the mess hall on several prior occasions. 

“You’ll like them.” Spock’s brows rose. 

“Whilst I am certain that I shall enjoy any food that you produce, what gives you the same confidence?” 

“I heard it’s similar to a kind of savoury fried crêpe native to Vulcan.” 

“How did you gather this information?”

Jim smirked. “Uhura told me. I made pancakes for one of our monthly meetings.”

“You have regular meetings with Nyota?”

“Sure. It’s a sort-of book club breakfast thing.”

“…And you discuss Vulcan?”

“Amongst other things.”

“Am I to infer that you also discuss me?”

Jim’s smile widened. “That would be telling.”

The thought of Jim and Nyota trading opinions on himself was not comforting. 

“Don’t look so worried. Try the pancake.”

Spock speared a raspberry and a piece of pancake with his fork and brought it to his mouth. He chewed. He took another bit, then another. He heard a chuckle. 

“I think you liked that.” 

Spock’s ears were hot. “It is acceptable.” 

“Good.”

Half an hour later, Spock considered his full stomach and the clean plate in front of him.

“Jim.” 

“Yeah?”

“You must desist in feeding me.” 

Jim laughed. Spock felt something stirring. “Why? It’s just pancakes. We’re on shore leave.”

“Indeed, but if you continue in the pattern that you have established these two days I calculate an eighty percent possibility that I will become medically obese within the next ten years.” 

He had intended for Jim to laugh again, but Jim instead fell silent. He appeared to be gazing into some unknowable space and time that Spock was not yet privy to. Jim then downed his cup of coffee. 

“I wouldn’t mind it. Ten years, hah.” He paused. “I wouldn’t worry. We’ll always have Bones there, ready to smack us over the head with diet cards and salad leaves.” He smiled at Spock. Spock was about to ask him why, when Jim stood up and began to clear away.

“Absolutely not, Jim. Allow me.” Spock took over and ushered Jim into the living room. “Rest.”

“Spock, I just woke up.”

“And now you will rest.”

“But I was planning to go outside-”

“Rest.”

“Fine.” 

***  
Spock and Jim spent the rest of the day occupied with their own pursuits. Jim read two books, and Spock tinkered with the design of a new prototype tricorder. Spock prepared lunch, and Jim did the washing up. If Jim was as struck by the domesticity of it all as Spock, he had not chosen to comment on it. 

“I want to go for a walk before it gets dark. We’ve been inside all day.”

“Jim, I would not advise it.”

“…Well, I’m going.”

“Let me rephrase, Jim, I will not allow it.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “I hope you’re not suggesting that you decide what I do or don’t do?” 

Spock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Of course not.”

“Then I’ll be going.”

“Will you take my coat?”

“Why?”

“Because your leather jacket is woefully inadequate in this temperature.” 

Jim shrugged, but walked away from him. “I don’t have anything else.”

“Then will you take my coat?” Spock rose to follow him.

“I can’t take your coat, Spock.” Jim’s face was pinched. He busied himself with putting his shoes on. 

“If you are unable to provide a coat for yourself, but I am, it is illogical to refuse the offer.” 

“Humans are illogical. Besides, if I take it you’ll freeze.”

“Indeed they are, but as I have anticipated your concern I took the liberty of bringing my extra duffle coat.” Spock retrieved said item from the coat hook, hidden beneath his own. He held the coat out expectantly. Jim appeared torn. 

“Okay.” He let Spock assist him into the coat, grabbed his hat and shoved it down over his head. Spock held out the scarf too. Jim grumbled, but complied. 

The walk itself was largely uneventful, and not anything Spock was keen to repeat. It was cold, damp, and the fascinating properties of snow escaped him once he had experienced the feeling of snow drip down his back after it had fallen from a tree branch and down the neck of his coat. He was attempting valiantly to not sulk, but a glance at Jim told him that he had failed. 

“Will you tell me about the trophies in your room?”

“Oh them. It’s just stuff I won in school.” 

“In what subject?”

“Different ones. Three of them were in Physics, but a couple are English Literature. I won one in music.”

“I believe you are a proficient piano player?”

Jim stared at him. “How did you know that?”

“There is a picture of you in the staircase. I would place your age at eight or nine.”

“That old thing? Anyway, that tells you I played piano. How do you know I was good?”

“Given that you excel at everything you do, it was not a difficult leap to make. Besides, you just confessed to having won a prize in music.” 

“Hah! Easy there, Sherlock. Don’t wanna go deducing all of me just yet.” 

“You are a being of infinite fascination to me, Jim.” 

Had Spock not turned around to continue their walk, he would not have missed the shock on Jim’s face, nor the affectionate glint in his eye. Had he seen this, he would unquestionably have kissed Jim. 

Jim caught up with him. 

“I noticed that your latest trophy was won when you were thirteen.” Jim hunched his shoulders slightly. 

“And?”

“I was merely curious as to the reason behind this, as I cannot imagine your intelligence suffered at any point in your life.”

Jim looked away.

“I didn’t attend school here from the time I was fourteen until I was fifteen.”

Spock sensed that he had touched upon a subject that was the cause of significant discomfort to Jim. 

“Do not feel pushed into explaining it to me, Jim. I would not see you uncomfortable.” 

Jim reached out and stroked his hand down Spock’s arm. Spock’s arm burned. 

“If I tell you, and I feel like I need you to know, will you promise not to talk about it with me?”

It was a strange request. “If that is what you wish.” 

Jim took a breath. “The summer I turned fourteen Mom had to go on an extended mission. She wasn’t a Lieutenant Commander at the time, and couldn’t persuade the Admiralty to give her another mission. So, she took me with her. I loved it. I loved the ship, I loved space, I loved the life. It was – the happiest I had been in a long time, and she saw that. The ship got called away again, but she asked me if I wanted to stay in the colony for some months. They had a school set up and everything. I jumped at the chance.” At this point the words seemed to run out of Jim’s mouth like water.”

“What happened then?” He prompted. 

Jim swallowed. “Spock, the planet was Tarsus IV.” 

Tarsus IV, the Federation’s greatest disaster and best-kept secret. All documents of its survivors were sealed, need-to-know only. The general details were available to the public, and were taught as part of the Academy’s Ethic’s course. To some, the confidential files were numbers in a statistic, to others they were nameless victims to be pitied. To Spock it was a missing puzzle piece in the wholeness of James Tiberius Kirk. 

“I-”

“Don’t.” Jim would not look at him. Spock placed a hand at the small of his back and nudged him back into motion. They walked in silence for a while, until Spock said, in a low voice,

“ _S'ti th'laktra_.”

Jim glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “ _Lesek_.” 

Spock was surprised, but did not comment. 

They walked for a while longer before Spock asked, “It is December 23rd.” 

“Yeah.” Jim said carefully. 

“Do you have anything planned for the Holiday season?”

“Not really. I mean, we’re out here and all. The house is run down, I haven’t had time to buy presents for people, and We won’t be seeing anyone either. Anyway, I don’t celebrate Christmas or anything.”

“Indeed? But you buy presents?”

“Well yeah, I just like it. It’s not a religious thing or anything for me. I just think it’s nice to give stuff to people you care about.” 

Spock nodded.

“What about you?” 

“As a Vulcan I do not celebrate Christmas or, indeed, any Terran holidays. My mother, however, is Jewish. She enjoys the festivities, and despite being on Vulcan she has an heirloom menorah that I accompanied her in lighting until the year I left for Starfleet.” 

“That’s nice. Do you miss it?”

“To miss it would be illogical, as it is not part of my own culture or personal tradition.”

“It’s okay to miss it.”

The brisk air had given Jim a healthy red glow to his cheeks. They were nearing the house when Jim stooped low to palm at the snow. For the first time since the Algol Three Mission, Spock could picture Jim at full health once more. 

“Jim, what are you doing?”

Jim did not answer, but stood up again, holding snow. The snow was inelegantly shaped into a ball. He looked particularly mischievous. Spock swallowed. 

“Jim?” 

Thwack! Before he knew it, Jim had thrown the ball of snow straight at Spock. It landed hard in the middle of Spock’s chest. He sniggered. 

“Why are you attacking me? Have I displeased you?” 

Jim laughed harder. “No! It’s called a snowball fight. You’re meant to make balls out of snow and throw them at other people.” He stooped low again.

“To what purpose?” Spock still had the ball of snow stuck to his coat.

“Fun, of course!” Thwack! Jim had impeccable aim. Spock narrowed his eyes. 

“I believe I understand.” He crouched in the snow, beginning to gather as much as possible. 

“What are you doing?”

“War, Jim.” 

Jim’s eyes widened and he turned and sprinted for the house. Spock followed in hot pursuit, a snowball the size of a boulder in his hands. 

“Shit, fuck, Spock!” 

Despite not being the precise context in which Spock had imagined Jim would shout those words, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction in dumping the pile of snow onto Jim as he sat huddled against the door. 

“Argh – you fucker!” 

“Expletives will get you nowhere, Captain.” 

***  
Entering the house to find it ice cold dampened their spirits somewhat. Jim went straight for the central heating again, whilst Spock attempted to set up the fireplace. 

The noise Jim made conveyed both annoyance and disgust. “It’s given out. I knew it was on its last legs, but Jesus, I had hoped it was going to last us the week.” 

“Would you like me to take a look?”

Jim shuffled over to the roaring fire. Spock draped a blanket over him. 

“Thanks. You can try, but I don’t think it’s salvageable.” 

Spock quickly found that Jim was correct. 

“It seems we are faced with a week of considerably lower temperatures than originally anticipated.”

He had meant for the statement to be humorous, but Jim did not appear to be in the mood for levity. He sat with his head in his hands, blanket making appear smaller. 

“I’m sorry, Spock. For dragging you here.”

“I can assure you that you did not ‘drag’ me here. I came of my own free will.”

“Only after Bones threatened to stay with me over the holidays instead of going to see Joanna in Georgia. Couldn’t let that happen. Only way he’d let me stay by myself was if you agreed to babysit.”

“You are not a child.”

“Thank you.” Jim sighed, burying his head into his curled-up knees. Spock stood tall beside him. 

“You are being facetious.” Spock frowned. Jim did not reply. “I believe it would be prudent to pack and leave.” 

Jim looked up. “Why?”

“Because the house will not warm itself, and it is folly to stay in a place of sub-optimal temperature in the middle of winter.”

“You can leave. I’m staying.”

The blunt statement stung harsher than the wind outside. “I see. I regret to inform you, however, that I cannot in good consciousness leave you behind.”

“Glad to hear your conscience is forcing you to stay here. I feel appreciated.” Jim’s voice was inexplicably bitter and out of proportion for the situation at hand. Spock, however, valued his life too much to inform Jim of this. 

“What is preventing you from returning to San Francisco at this time?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to stay.” 

Spock decided to sit down beside Jim. “As I said prior to our arrival, the offer of staying at my apartment in San Francisco is still valid.”

“I can’t do that, Spock.” Though his face was unreadable, Spock detected an air of resignation in Jim’s tone. 

“Explain.”

“I don’t belong there.” 

Illogically, it felt as if the walls were going to close in on Spock’s world. Perhaps he had misjudged Jim’s regard. Perhaps –

“You don’t want to live with me. And I can’t intrude on your hospitality. You’ve already agreed to come here, to snowy Iowa, for me. I – I can’t burden you more than necessary.” Jim got up and stormed out of the living room. 

Spock did not understand how the snowball fight outside and this argument could have happened on the same day, in the span of mere minutes. He followed Jim up the stairs and into the hallway. 

Jim stood with his head against the wall, fists clenched. The shaved circular spot was visible. 

“Jim, I believe there is something else upsetting you.” There was no response. “Jim? In the interest of alleviating any fears you may hold, it is necessary for you to understand that you are not nor never will be a burden, to me or to your crew.” 

“I don’t want your pity.” Jim’s eyes were wet. 

“It is not pity, Jim. It is affection. It is sympathy. It is love.”

“How can that be? I fucked up the mission on Algol, the bald spot on my head is a daily reminder of that failure, and I keep worrying everyone by almost dying. Name another captain with my track record of divine resurrection – it’s not normal, is it?”

“We had no way of knowing that the militants would-”

“You warned me of the dangers. I didn’t listen. I never listen. I don’t understand why you don’t just declare me incompetent and court martial me. Why Starfleet let us have this shore leave is beyond me. I suppose they don’t want to fire their poster boy.” 

Jim scrubbed at his eyes. Tension radiated from him. Spock could tell that he was hurt and fatigued. 

“I let Uhura down. I let her get captured because I was unaware. I let you down, I let the team down. I’m weak and stupid and-”

It was enough.

“ _Jim_.” Spock grabbed Jim by the upper arms and turned him around gently, folding him into his arms, chest-to-chest, face-to-face. “Stop this. Nam’uh hayal. Nam’uh ralash-fam, ahsayam.” 

“-and to top it all off I lo-” Jim finished abruptly, falling almost eerily silent as Spock lowered his forehead to touch his own. 

“Is this why you refused my offered coat? Is this why you refuse to sleep under my roof? Why are you so unkind to yourself? You do not deserve it.” 

He opened his eyes, meeting Jim’s, big and bright. “What are you doing?”

Spock inhaled. “Will you listen to me?” He kept his voice gentle, almost a whisper. Why, he did not know, for it was only the two of them against the winter cold. He felt Jim nod against him. Blue eyes bore into his own, uncertain, but caught by Spock’s words. “The mission was not your fault. No one could have predicted the presence nor action of the militants. You placed paramount importance on the safety of the landing party and the Algolian Government. No one can fault you for that. It is what I would have done. It is what the others would have done.” 

Spock squeezed Jim’s arms. 

“You do not listen to all I say. That is good. I am not infallible, Jim. You saved Nyota. They took you instead. At that moment, I was departed – I was no more. The sound of the gun. Why did they have guns? Jim, I-” He tried again. Jim appeared to be hanging on to his every word. “I killed them, Jim. I did not blink, did not feel. I ended their lives. I did not think of consequences. They had tried to take you from me. They did not succeed, I put their world asunder. Am I a murderer, Jim?” His gaze bore into Jim’s.

“Spock – no, of course not. It was in the line of duty-”

“It was not _duty_ that stopped my heart. It was not duty that bled over my uniform. It was not duty that made me sit by your bedside for a month. Jim, _ashayam_ , why did I tear after your kidnappers? Why did I offer you my coat, my apartment? When you refused, why did I follow you here?” 

Spock had given him an opening. Something had passed between them and hung suspended in mid-air, weighted, unnamed, and powerful. 

The room suddenly, illogically, felt smaller and filled to the brim with potential energy. 

He loosened his grip on Jim. Jim’s hands shot up to Spock’s own biceps, clinging for dear life. Spock settled one hand behind Jim’s head, the other on his cheek. Upon contact with bare skin, Spock felt surface emotions flooding out of Jim like sunlight through Vulcan blinds. He felt joy, confusion, shame, and anxiety. Most of all, he felt deep, crippling _fear_. 

Jim was the bravest person Spock had ever known. Every day on the _Enterprise_ the captain was tasked with the momentous task of looking after its crew. He did not do it alone. He believed in the competency of his senior officers, he delegated tasks, and he always carried absolute certainty that, no matter the situation, his crew were the most able out of all of Starfleet. He trusted that Doctor McCoy would keep the people healthy; that Mr Scott would keep them all afloat; that Nyota would keep him from diplomatic and personal disaster; that Sulu and Chekov would point them all in the right direction; and that Spock himself would share his burden with respect. Spock was certain that Jim’s belief in others made him the most exemplary captain in Federation history. 

But at this very moment, Jim did not feel brave, and Spock realised that it would be unjust to demand it of him. Had he not just revealed himself, laid himself bare to await judgment? Jim had invited him to his childhood home, he had shared his past with him, had been afraid of imposing on him – as if the special part inside of Spock that was reserved solely for Jim did not exist. 

Spock stroked a finger over Jim’s cheek. He nudged Jim’s nose with his own. Jim breathed short, shallow breaths over his lips. 

“Jim, when I ask you to spend the rest of shore leave with me in San Francisco I do so because, to me, you are infinitely precious. I would like for nothing so much as to spend every available moment with you. What is mine, is yours.” He looked into Jim’s eyes. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes. Yes, Spock. _God_ , yes. Oh my God.” The words were whispered, spilling out in relieved bursts of energy. His hand rose to cover his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut. 

“Then will you accompany me back to-” Suddenly, there were lips on his, hesitant and charged. Spock tightens his grip on Jim and reciprocated. He wanted to touch Jim; wanted to bury himself into his chest and stay there; wanted to beautifully, illogically, melt their minds together. Jim responded with unexpected intensity. For a short while, nothing was said. Spock basked in the waves of fondness that radiated from Jim. 

Abruptly, Jim laughed. Spock was momentarily confused. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…” He sighed and cupped Spock’s face with gentle hands. “How could I ever have at one point thought that your only form of expression came through your left damn eyebrow?” His eyes were warm and luminous. “God, Spock. You just-” Then, Spock was kissed again. He was extraordinarily pleased by the development. 

“Spock?”

“Yes?” Spock stroked the small bald spot with light fingers. 

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Spock snapped his head back. He searched Jim’s face. His mouth was quirked in a charmingly humorous curve, but his eyes were wet around the edges. His lip wobbled slightly. 

_Compromise_. 

He wrinkled his nose. “Yes. Boyfriend.” 

“Unbelievable. You have been reduced to incomplete sentences. Don’t worry, I won’t say it out loud in front of the others.” 

Spock, however, was determined. “You may shout it from the rooftop in San Francisco if you wish.” He tightened his grip on Jim. 

“Shall we pack our belongings and close up the house?” 

“Yeah, just-” Jim buried his nose into Spock’s neck, “wait a bit.” He paused. “Dibs on not telling Bones that we’re returning early and why.” 

***  
They made it back to San Francisco by late afternoon on December 24th. The journey by air car had been companionable and occasionally awkward. Jim kept inexplicably turning pink, and Spock found himself lost for words on more occasions in that time than he had in his entire life. 

At Jim’s request, they had made a brief stop by a chocolatier. Jim had wished to buy something for McCoy’s daughter, as they would be visiting on the following day. He had already bought her books, but wished to buy chocolate as well.

“Why did you not simply just buy her books?”

“Because children love getting presents, and because Bones hates it when I give her sweets.” 

“In that case, may I suggest that you buy her marshmelons? We can stop off at an additional establishment if you wish.” 

“Sorry, what?” Jim snorted. 

“Marshmelons. I had thought them a common Terran sweet. They are a confectionary prepared with sugar, gelatin, and corn starch – typically white or pink in colour.” 

Jim appeared to be holding back laughter. Spock raised an eyebrow. “I did not know that confectionary would be a source of amusement to you.” He paused. “…If I had known it would delight you in this manner I would have explained the process of making gelatinous candy much sooner.” 

“I’m sorry, Spock.” 

“Do you require further explanation?” 

“That’s alright, Spock. I think I know what you’re talking about.” 

“Indeed?” 

“Yeah, only my Mom called them marshmallows.” Spock’s eyebrow rose further. 

“Marshmallows? Fascinating.” 

“Yup.” 

“It is curious that my mother did not bother to correct my misconception.” 

“Misconception? Oh! Marshmelons. I think that might be what they’re called in different places. Like Canada. Yeah, I’ve definitely heard it before. Never drew the link. And some people call me a genius. Hah.” 

“That would make sense, given that my mother is Canadian.” Jim’s lip quirked. 

“Really? I had no idea.” 

***  
Spock’s apartment was spacious, clean, and functional. He knew that decorations were sparse – occasional Vulcan artefacts and scripture dotted a wall in the living room, and in his bedroom. 

Jim stood in the middle of the living room, appearing to take it all in. 

“It smells curious.”

Mildly panicked, Spock said hurriedly, “It is the Vulcan incense. Forgive me, I have grown so accustomed to it. I did not consider the different olfactory glands of your biology.” 

“Calm down, Spock. It smells like you, but stronger.” He walked over to Spock, and held his hand out. Spock met it with his own, caressing their fingers together. “I like it.” 

“I have not yet had the time to reorganise the spare bedroom. It currently serves as a study and is not in...optimal tidiness. Will a sleepover be pleasing to you?”

Jim laughed freely. “Very pleasing, but I’m not sleeping on a mattress on your floor.”

“Of course,” Spock spoke quickly, “I shall be happy to repeat the experience.” 

With a beatific smile and sharp eyes, Jim embraced Spock fully. “How about no one sleeps on the floor?” 

Spock blinked. Jim’s smile slid downwards. “Or not? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous-” he was broken off by a kiss.

“Please,” Spock breathed, “be as presumptuous as you wish.”

***

The next day, Spock opened the apartment door for Doctor McCoy. He took his shoes off and headed into the living area after Spock. 

“Thanks for takin’ care of him, Spock.”

“It was my pleasure, Doctor.” 

McCoy placed his medical supplies on the coffee table and looked at Jim. 

“Hi, Bones.” Jim hugged McCoy fiercely. McCoy reciprocated, but soon grew flustered.

“Don’t you ‘Hi, Bones’ me. Why did I have Spock on the comm yesterday evening telling me you tried to convince him to let you stay in an ice-cold house in the middle of Iowa?”

“Spock! I can’t believe you told on me.” Spock’s lip twitched. 

Spotting Jim’s hoodie, McCoy said, “Jim? Did you pinch my damn hoodie again?” 

“Again?” Spock frowned. 

“Erm…Mine’s in the wash?” Jim squirmed. 

“Jim! I was looking for that. Nearly froze my ass off in Georgia.” 

“You nearly froze to death in Georgia? Now I know you’re overreacting, Bones–” 

“Shut your yap and take a seat, infant.” 

“Jim, why are you wearing the Doctor’s garments?” Spock asked sharply. 

“Don’t get your dick in a knot, Spock.” 

“Woah, Bones.” 

“Doctor, I find your statement to be borderline offensive. I can assure you that my genitals are in perfect working condition, a fact which you may verify by consulting Jim himself.” 

“Oh my God, Spock-”

“Dammit, Jim!”

Spock looked at Jim, his hand placed protectively onto his lower back. Jim was happy. Spock would do his utmost to ensure the continuation of this joy. He would find a worthy collaborator in the Doctor. They knew what Jim had yet to learn: that his people - his crew - would follow him to the end of the universe. 

Through the hand on Jim's back, Spock could see the future.

 _Beautiful_.


End file.
